


king of the lone star

by ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Ghosts, Guns, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Content, Wild West, character tags will be updated as they appear, cowboy outlaw technoblade fights ghosts and trauma, known in the discord server as Texasblade v. Lovecraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27520723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes/pseuds/ThatWeirdGuyInTheBushes
Summary: Techno climbs up trees, climbs up the tallest building in the city, climbs up the moon tower that casts its silvery light over the whole town, and still, he cannot touch the stars.Phil really should have known, after that. Known there was something wrong with Techno. But he never caught on, and whether that was deliberate or ignorance has never been any of Techno’s business.He probably regrets it now, Techno thinks, blowing smoke off the top of his pistol and shoving it into his holster. He should have sent Techno down the river when he was still a little one- when he couldn’t fight back.Technoblade may never get his lasso around the stars. But God will be damned if he ain't gonna get it around Texas.-Technoblade is a southern outlaw. Ghosts ensue.
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 62
Kudos: 187





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spaghettoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaghettoi/gifts).



> give me reads guys I did so much research about 19th-century texas for this
> 
> I'll try to update on Wednesdays and Sundays (also the chapter limit is not indefinite)
> 
> EDIT: updates will be every Sunday, bi-weekly is way too much for me lol

Technoblade is seven years old when he tries to lasso the stars.

Phil smiles at him, chuckles, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “The stars are too far away for that, kiddo. You can lasso the cows.”

Techno climbs up trees, climbs up the tallest building in the city, climbs up the moon tower that casts its silvery light over the whole town, and still, he cannot touch the stars.

Phil really should have known, after that. Known there was something wrong with Techno. But he never caught on, and whether that was deliberate or ignorance has never been any of Techno’s business.

He probably regrets it now, Techno thinks, blowing smoke off the top of his pistol and shoving it into his holster. He should have sent Techno down the river when he was still a little one- when he couldn’t fight back.

Technoblade may never get his lasso around the stars. But God will be damned if he ain't gonna get it around Texas.

-

“Are you a spirit?”

Techno’s heart skips a beat. He whirls around, hand on his pistol before he sees that the speaker is a child. Little thing, too. Blond, blue-eyed, and baby-faced. He puts away his pistol, cause he’s a lot of things but a child murderer isn’t one of them. “Why’re you out here this late?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.” He’s got an English accent. How the hell did he end up here? “Are you a spirit?”

“I ain’t.”

“Where did you come from?”

Techno’s eye twitches. He wanted this trip to be quick, with no talking involved. He reaches into his boot and pulls out a switchblade. “Shut it, now.”

The kid puts his hands up, and even though his knees are shaking he still asks “What are you then?”

And he, sixteen years old and a heretic, grins with all his teeth while hopping on his horse and says “I’m Technoblade. And you better remember it, cause I’m gonna be King of Texas.”

-

Techno is nineteen and high leather boots, nineteen and running.

It starts because Techno is hiding from the Sheriff.

He likes to stick to the panhandle, because of the lax gun laws. But he’s been following a bounty to the West for a while, and he’s got caught in one of the cities with enough sense to take the guns out of strangers' hands _before_ they caused trouble.

And he’s nineteen years old, and he’s hiding from the Sheriff, and he’s crawling into a Church cellar and shutting the trapdoor behind him.

He’s in the basement of the Church. A decrepit statue of the Virgin Mary eyes him in the dark, while he tries not to breathe in too much dust. He thinks he can hear a Sunday service, filtering in from the floor above.

_“Make me not… perishable seed-”_

Techno hasn’t believed in any God since he was a young thing, but this feels wrong. He squishes a roach beneath his feet.

_“Through… enduring-”_

He settles down, crossing his arms over his chest and kicking off his boots. Mary watches. “Oh, fuck off,” he mutters. “It’s not like I’m really in Church.” Techno doesn’t even know why he cares about this. Maybe it’s just his birth dad getting into his head again, rapping his knuckles and dragging him to service every Sunday. Maybe it’s instinct, born through centuries of tradition. Maybe it’s just in his blood.

He waits down there for a long while. He hums old Christian hymns.

_“The Lord maketh me…”_

He crawls out of the cellar when the light stops filtering in through the cracks of the trapdoor. He sneaks to the edge of town, grabs his horse, and gets out as quick as he can.

He’s watching the stars next to a campfire when he realizes that it’s Friday.

And he quits. He scrubs the dirt off his gun, then scrubs the dirt off his shoes, and he packs up his things and he quits.

Technoblade leaves.

He spends a long time on his horse, thinking about the future and the Church and about who was saying prayers at the altar if there wasn’t a service and he leaves Texas.

His throat buzzes like it’s full of wasps. He pushes his glasses up his face. He wipes the sweat off his forehead. Phil has a nice ranch in Arizona territory, Techno thinks. Phil told him to visit.

Told.

Back when Techno was still fifteen. When Techno was a different person; a person who didn’t carry guns. A person who didn’t have scars. A person who didn’t want a crown and could still smile without baring his teeth.

He goes back.

Phil has a new kid, now. He calls himself a horse-tamer but he’s Phil’s new kid, no doubt about it.

He’s taller than Techno likes. Built like a stick, but still too damn tall. Techno isn’t even at his shoulders.

_He’s your replacement._

_Shut up._

He takes Techno inside, being far too polite to a man who looks like Techno does, with all of the scars and the rough clothes and the empty gun holster on his hip. “How do you know Phil?”

Techno pushes down every part of him that wants to say Phil is his dad. “Old friend. Haven’t seen him in a while, but he’ll know me.”

The kid, who’s English, just like Phil, narrows his eyes. “I’ll tell him you’re here. What’s your name?”

“Technoblade.”

The kid looks at him strangely before entering the house. He didn’t seem to recognize the name, though. Techno’s not sure if he expected that or not, isn’t sure if that makes him mad or not, but maybe he should be glad that the kid’s not from Texas. If he were then Techno would probably have a lot to answer for.

Speaking of which-

Techno is wrapped in a hug before he processes the door opening. Phil’s head is buried in his neck. Techno puts his arms up and tries to remember how to hug someone.

“I thought you weren’t coming back, Techno.”

Techno shrugs, an itch building all over his body as he tries to think of the words. “Wasn’t gonna. But things changed.”

“You’ve grown taller,” Phil mumbles into the jacket, and it seems like he means a lot more.

-

“How’d ya meet Phil?”

Wilbur side-eyes him, hard. Techno is pulling ripe potatoes out of the ground while Wilbur feeds the chickens. “Why do you want to know?”

“Curious,” Techno replies.

Fucking hell, Techno’s bad at this. Turns out focusing on world domination doesn’t give you a lot of time to develop social skills, who woulda thought?

“It’s none of your business.”

And Techno is kind of about to say, “He’s my dad and you’re his new replacement son, of course, it’s my business” but somewhere on their way up the words turn to ash. He’s not Phil’s son.

Maybe he was, once. But it’s been a long few years; He’s not the same kid Phil raised. He’s not the kid Phil took in.

“Fair enough.” Techno pulls a potato from the ground. It’s been so long since he did good work with his hands and just got into the dirt. He missed it.

He adjusts his sunhat to keep the light out of his eyes. Steals a look at Wilbur, feeding the chickens. Yup, still too fucking tall. He stops pulling potatoes and squats.

“What do you know about ghosts?” Wilbur looks over his shoulder, his eyes wide.

And then he drops the bag of feed on the ground, turns on a heel, and storms off.

_Oh, Jesus H. Christ. He’s fucked it now, hasn’t he?_

-

Phil looks concerned when Techno walks in. He’s making dinner (How long has it been since Techno had a good meal?) and keeps glancing at Techno and biting his nails. Techno doesn’t ask what’s wrong. He can’t bring himself to get involved just in case Phil doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s hurt the man enough.

“You were out there for a while, Techno,” Phil finally says.

“Yup. Wanted to get the field done.” Techno breathes in deep and smells the soup that Phil is stirring. His mouth waters. “Soup smells great.” He remembers that smiling is normally an appropriate companion to compliments and tries it. He keeps his teeth hidden. Teeth are for grins. Teeth are for predators.

Then Phil says, “You didn’t have to do that, y’ know? You’re our guest, Techno.”

Oh.

Techno’s eyes go down to the floor, to where he’s scuffing his foot through the dust. “It’s the least I can do. If I’m stayin’, I’m helpin’.”

_“Are_ you staying?”

Techno wants to draw his gun. He wants to draw his gun, shoot it at the sky, and then get on a horse and run as far away as he can just so he can avoid the genuine possibility that Phil doesn’t want him here.

But he manages to swallow that urge. It tastes like pride. It tastes like watercress. “I want to.”

Wilbur pushes through the door before Phil can respond.

And. Well.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Techno blinks. He’s never going to get used to Phil swearing. He can’t deny that it’s warranted, though.

Wilbur’s got a bruise going on his face, all bright red and pink, covering up his eye and his cheekbone. It’s a big one, shaped like a fist, and he definitely did not have it this morning.

“Hello to you, too,” Wilbur mumbles, taking off his coat and hanging it up.

“Whoever did that has got a mean right hook,” Techno points out, but that’s the wrong thing to say because then Phil is glaring at him.

Wilbur walks into the kitchen and breathes in the beef and vegetable soup, smiling. “Smells great.”

“I’m not going to just brush this off, Will. Who-?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Wilbur says through gritted teeth, looking at Techno pointedly.

Techno moves to the soup pot and scoops some out into a bowl. He sits himself down at the corner and very deliberately ignores all of the things that are stirring up in his chest- because they’re not welcome here.

Dinner is quiet. He falls asleep on the floor, and if he dreams, he does not remember.

-


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendship is hard when you don't have social skills.

Techno gets up at four in the morning, cold sweat on his back and the knowledge that he’s had a nightmare firmly present in his brain. He gets up, grabs an apple out of the fruit barrel, and heads outside.

There’s a nice chill in the air. The sun will be rising in a few minutes, which will chase away the last of the cold. He finds a good tree to climb so he’ll be able to see it.

Techno can’t even remember the last time he watched the sunrise.

He hums some folk music. Something about Winn Dixie. Something about John Brown.

_ “The Lord maketh me-” _

Techno’s heart skips a beat as he remembers that voice. Baritone, echoing through the floorboards of the church. Had he imagined it? He doesn’t think so. But there couldn’t have been anyone in that Church, not giving a Sunday sermon like that. He could hear all the other people, too, all the shuffling feet and the low murmurs and the breathing  _ aliveness  _ of the whole place.

He shouldn’t think about it. He shouldn’t. He should leave it behind and put it away and do anything except think about it because if he thinks about it too much his goddamn head will explode and that’ll just be a shitshow.

But he can’t help it.

Techno doesn’t believe in ghosts. He doesn’t believe in ghosts and he sure doesn't believe in God. But he’s never found a church open on Friday. And he’s never had a statue watch him like the Virgin Mary was.

Techno runs his hands through his hair and sighs so heavily that the leaves in front of him shake. He watches the sunrise.

It reminds him of why he never does it anymore. He fucking hates the colour yellow.

He gets out of the tree and sets himself to feeding the pigs because at least pigs are cute. Fuckin’ lucky bastards, pigs are. Getting to just roll around in the mud all day and get fed and not have any ambition or regret or teeth too sharp for their species.

They’ve got everything better.

He feeds the cows too, while he’s at it.

-

He heads back inside for breakfast and finds Phil cooking up steak and eggs. Wilbur is sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and bouncing his leg frantically. His bruise has grown darker since last night, and will certainly get purple and green in the coming days.

Wilbur is ranting loudly when Techno walks in. “How am I gonna hide this before the traders come in? If they think I’m bad enough that you’re hitting me, they’re never gonna buy-” He stops as soon as he sees Techno.

Phil turns and smiles, although it’s a little strained. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’, Phil.” Techno smiles back, and silently congratulates himself on how much easier it was this time. He sits down at the table, as far away from Wilbur as he can be.

For some reason, there’s an itch in the back of his mind, begging to be scratched. Wilbur has left him with a word on the tip of his tongue.

Techno brushes non-existent dust off his pants, whistling. He doesn’t know why Wilbur doesn’t like him, but it’s only making his attempts at socializing worse. Phil places three plates down and then sits between Techno and Wilbur.

“Thank you,” they say at the same time. Wilbur glares as if Techno is  _ trying  _ to be annoying.

The word lingers in the back of Techno’s head as he eats, itchy and unpleasant. “So, Wilbur-”

Wilbur downs his coffee, sets the mug on the table, and stands, grabbing his coat. “Gotta go take Lucky for a ride, see ya!” He’s out the door within seconds. Techno turns to look at Phil, who also seems genuinely surprised.

“Do  _ you  _ know what his problem is?”

Phil silently shakes his head, grabbing Wilbur’s plate and setting it on the counter. “He’s not normally like that, I promise. I think it’s just- he doesn’t really like new people. It’s- it’s not  _ you,  _ Techno.”

Techno doesn’t believe that, but he nods anyway, for Phil’s sake.

“Anything you want doin’ today?”

Phil considers that for a moment and then asks if Techno still knows how to milk a cow.

-

He’s finishing up with the cows when he realizes that their water trough is empty. He mumbles curses to himself. There oughta be a well somewhere nearby, but he doesn’t know where it is.

He feels so normal, then. He rubs at the long scar running up his bicep and tries to remember what this felt like when he was thirteen and had no other concept of life. There wasn’t anything, then, nothing existed besides the farm and the small town outside of it. It was just him and Phil. It feels as though a lot more time has passed than has; as if it’s been decades rather than years.

Techno stubs his toe on a rock and, as he curses the rocks ancestors, can’t help but think  _ some fucking king you are. _

He finally spots the well and pulls up a bucket of water. He’s pouring it into the cow’s trough when the word leaps to the front of his mind.

That’s what he’s looking for.

Techno runs to the edge of Phil’s property, scoping out the forest. It should be growing under these trees, away from the sun. And after a few minutes of searching, he finds the plants and plucks them from the ground.

He heads to the horse stables and waits for Wilbur to return.

He’s about to start cleaning his gun when Wilbur pulls in, which is probably a good thing. Maybe preparing a weapon wouldn’t be the best look.

The horse is a nice creme colour, looking young and strong. Wilbur guides it to the stables and then dismounts, petting the side of the horse's face and smiling at it. The horse whinnies and pushes its head against Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur closes the gate behind him and his grin drops immediately. Techno is honestly a little bit impressed by the quick transition.

“What do you want?” Wilbur removes his gloves, shoving them into the pockets of his pants. Techno takes off his hat and sets it down on a barrel, trying his best to appear respectful.

“You were talking to Phil about an event, earlier, and I thought I ought to help you out.” He holds up the yellow plant.

“What’s that?” Wilbur steps a little closer, seemingly to get a better look.

“Witch hazel. It'll cure your bruising.” Techno turns and waves a beckoning hand, walking towards the house. He trusts Wilbur to follow.

“And how, exactly, is it going to do that?” Wilbur appears beside him quickly thanks to those damn long legs. They reach the house quickly and Techno props open the door with his foot, gesturing Wilbur inside.

Phil’s gone off to sell a box of eggs at the marketplace, but Techno’s plan to win Wilbur over has given him enough confidence to do this alone. He moves into the kitchen and brings out a small teacup plate. He also pulls out his bowie knife.

“What are you doing?”

Techno lays the witch hazel on the counter and presses down on its stem with the flat end of the knife. “Extracting the oil. Once I’m done with that, we can put it on some cotton and press it to your shiner.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes while Techno pushes the oil out of the stem and onto the small plate. Then, he pulls some cotton from a blanket and uses it to absorb the oil. He hands the cotton over to Wilbur.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Wilbur asks while dabbing the cotton around his eye.

Part of Techno doesn’t want to answer the question. He doesn’t like talking about the past, no matter what the subject is, and Wilbur hasn’t done much to earn trust. But, then again, Techno hasn’t come off as very trustworthy either. Maybe this is a chance at redemption.

“I got caught in a bad heatwave a few years back. I was travelling with an Apache Indian caravan, giving them protection on the road in exchange for money.” He pointedly doesn’t mention that the reason he didn’t have any money was that everything he had on him was taken when he got arrested. “They had some witch hazel oil on them for bruises, and we used to the plants as dowsing rods when we couldn’t find water. Honestly, they were the nicest group o’ people I ever met, but that’s a separate thing. I got reminded of it when I was looking for water to give the cows. Thought you’d be appreciative of the help.”

Techno fidgets against the counter, feeling as though he’s being picked apart by Wilbur’s stare. His confidence disappears under the scrutiny like mist on a Summer day.

Finally, Wilbur stops staring and nods. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” Techno scuffs a foot against the ground and sticks his hands in his pockets. “I’m gonna go grab my hat.” He practically speeds out the door, and only takes another breath when he’s off the porch steps.

-

This time, Wilbur finds him. He’s found a nice rock to lay on, soaking up the heat while the day is still young. He’s had enough conversation today, at least until Phil gets home. A nice nap in the sun with his hat over his eyes is all he wants right now.

“You wanted to know how I met Phil, right?”

Techno jumps, pulling up his hat and turning. He sighs in relief when he sees it’s just Wilbur, but his heart keeps trying to fly out of his chest. “God, warn a man next time you creep upon him, will ya?”

Wilbur sits down next to him. “Do you want to?”

Techno shifts. “You don’t gotta talk about it if you don’t wanna, Wilbur.”

Wilbur blinks, looking a bit confused. “I thought that you wanted to know?”

“I want you to tell me cause you want to, not cause you think you owe me the story or something.” Techno scratches the back of his neck, running his hands through the hair there. It’s nearly down to his shoulders at this point. He needs to cut it soon.

Part of him hopes that Wilbur will tell him anyway. It’s not like he doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t want to guilt the man into it. That’s never ended well for anyone, not in the long run.

The horizon is growing pink. Maybe Techno’s nap was a little longer than he thought. “Okay,” Wilbur finally says. “Okay. Thanks, Techno.”

“No problem.”

They watch the sunset together before heading back inside, and everything feels a little more balanced. 

_ Thank God that’s done with,  _ Techno can’t help but think. Maybe Wilbur will be able to breathe the same air as him now. Maybe they’ll even find some peace.

For some reason, Techno doubts his luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls give me comments


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah ive been writing dream smp fics. oops. anyway here's your texasblade, with some new characters, a little more words than usual, and a playlist to make up for it  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4t0S6kD7ENQoCOSCB4wLo9?si=4d7-6OAwSqqzintu0DKRAw

Techno wishes he hadn’t agreed to this.

He licks his lips and curses the drought, peering at Wilbur’s head a few yards in front of him. They’re both on horseback, riding to a nearby city and lugging their wares behind them. It was supposed to be Wilbur and Phil on this trip like it’s apparently been for years, but Phil had come down with something. Mild enough to not worry anyone too much, but bad enough that he couldn’t come with.

Part of Techno wonders if Phil’s faking it to try and force another bonding experience. Techno wouldn’t put it past him.

But the cough had seemed real, and painful enough that Techno would have felt real bad for speaking up against it. He still wishes he hadn’t agreed to go.

It’s not like things between Wilbur and him are _bad._ At least, they’re not as bad as those first few days. But it’s just careful politeness instead of outright disregard now, which honestly doesn’t make Techno feel much better.

At least Techno is getting to ride on his own horse again. It hasn't been too long, but he missed her.

He spurs her on and catches up to Wilbur. He doesn’t want to fall too far behind, just in case something goes wrong. Bandits are everywhere in Arizona, at least according to the wandering traders Techno has been in contact with over the years. Although he doesn’t put too much faith in them as a general rule, he’s inclined to believe them on this.

Wilbur glances down at him. They’ve probably got an hour of travelling left to go, with a few rests in between to keep their horses from tiring out too much. They’d decided to use pack horses instead of a carriage due to the rocky terrain ahead, which means they’re mostly bringing fruits, leathers, and jerky with them for selling.

Techno thinks, unbidden, about Wilbur insisting to Phil that he ought to go alone. It brushes him the wrong way, thinking that Wilbur would rather brace the Arizona countryside by himself than take Techno along.

“Your bruise healed up nice,” Techno starts.

“Yeah, thanks for that. Again.” It’s true as well. The bruise on Wilbur’s eye is a faint memory by now, even though it’s only been about a week. And now that he knows about the trading, Techno can understand Wilbur’s anxieties. People like Techno’s mentor, who was always a little soft-hearted, liked to give bruised up young merchant boys extra money. But anyone else would see that black eye and wonder what the kid had done to earn it, and whatever conclusion they came to, be it cheating a man out of a deal or not doing their job, usually led to steering clear of the stall. It wasn’t pleasant, and Techno had been on the receiving end of it enough whenever he had to go trading, but it was how things worked. He wouldn’t deal with a beat seller either.

“So how’d you get into horse taming? You’re awful good at it.” He prays that Wilbur takes it as a compliment. Mother of Christ, help him figure this man out.

Wilbur’s eyebrows go up and he smiles. “Thank you. I’ve loved them since I was a kid. Got into carriage driving back in London, and it was…” Wilbur seems to remember who he’s talking to and presses his lips together. “It was nice. How’d you get into guns?”

Techno blinks, brain fumbling to try and process the subject change. He can’t tell who’s worse at this making-friends thing, him or Wilbur. “Necessity. And I had a good teacher.” Techno can’t even remember the last time he made small talk. It’s always been more reliable to be quiet and scary and to have himself a partner who could smooth talk them out of the rougher bits.

Techno’s mouth starts moving again before he can tell it to shut. “What’s your horse’s name?”

“Frasier. You?”

“Brick.”

Wilbur eyes him. Techno, for what must be the thousandth time, curses their height difference. “That’s an… odd name for a horse.”

Techno feels his ears heat up and shrugs. “It was an inside joke, she- you had to be there.”

His body finally catches up to his brain, and his teeth click shut. Wilbur doesn’t say anything more, and Techno prays that their destination isn’t as far off as Phil said.

After a long hour of silence, Techno makes the mistake of asking if Arizona is any good to live in, which inspires a lengthy rant about the flaws in US legislation and the statehood process.

Techno doesn’t listen to a lot of it, because as much as he wants to get along with Wilbur, he couldn’t give less of a shit about local Arizona politics. Or whatever the hell Wilbur is on about now.

“Gladstone and Harrison are fucking meaters, Technoblade. Neither of them will ever-”

“What does _meater_ mean?”

Wilbur looks at him strangely. “You don’t use that word?”

“If we do, I ain’t ever heard it.”

“It means coward.”

Techno almost chokes on his spit. “And Gladstone is the Prime Minister? And Harrison is… the president?”

“Harrison is _your_ president.”

“I don’t know what made you think that I cared about politics.”

Wilbur sighs deeply, his head in the mane of his horse, and Techno is just cursing himself for messing up again when he hears the clopping of horseshoes against the rock.

“Wilbur-”

Three people on horseback round the bend of the orange mesa, all wielding guns. “Halt,” a woman’s voice says. “Hand over your silver and no one gets hurt.”

Techno yanks on Brick’s reigns, bringing the horse to a stop. Beside him, Wilbur does the same. The three highwaymen are only around fifty feet away. Wilbur puts his hands behind his head.

Techno holds his hands up and at his side, ready to draw from his shoulder holster. The trio rides forward.

Techno looks over them for identifying features, but his mind keeps skipping around, not able to collect anything he thinks about. It’s one of those days again. It’s a really damn inconvenient time for a day where his brain won’t work right.

The people ride closer. “Dismount,” the girl, seemingly the one in charge, demands again, and Techno does. He keeps his hand by his holster, itching to use it. If he was by himself then maybe he’d draw it, but with Wilbur to protect, and a horse in between them? Not a chance in hell they’d both make it out alive. Techno could never face Phil again if he let Wilbur die out here.

“Gentlemen, please,” Wilbur starts. Techno nearly kicks him. “I’m sure that if we discuss this properly, we can work something out. There’s no need for violence.”

One of the other Highwaymen gestures to Techno with his Winchester Rifle. “He’s got a gun.” He looks at the third man. “Corpse, you wanna take it off his hands?” The third man, Corpse, hums in affirmation and jumps off his horse. He keeps his pistol pointed between Techno’s eyes, pulls his hand away from his shoulder, and takes the gun out of the holster.

“Colt Navy,” says the deep, rumbling voice in front of him. “Same brand as mine.” Corpse chuckles a little, then shoves the gun into his holster.

Techno resists the very powerful urge to knee the man in the crotch because no one touches his guns and gets away with it, but he’s reminded of Wilbur like a kick to the teeth. The unnamed man has his rifle levelled at Wilbur’s head.

Techno clenches his jaw and digs around in Frasier's pack for his small bag of coins. It’s a small price to pay to keep Wilbur alive, even if it smarts.

“Sykkuno,” the woman says, “grab the horses.”

“No!” Wilbur shouts. Techno’s chest goes cold. He grabs on to Brick’s reins tightly, knowing that Wilbur is doing the same.

“Would you rather I shoot you both and take them? Because as much as I’d hate to spill blood without good cause, I am not afraid to.” The woman moves her horse forward, closer to Wilbur. The man, Sykunno, dismounts and grabs the reigns of Brick and Frasier.

Techno rolls up his sleeve and tears his knife out of its holster on his arm, grabbing Sykkuno and holding the knife to his throat. Sykkuno smartly drops the reins in his hand.

“Don’t you dare,” Corpse growls, holding up his gun.

“Go ahead,” the woman says calmly. “But if you kill him, I’ll put a bullet through your friend's brain before you can say _forgive me.”_

“Rae-” Corpse starts, his voice panicked.

“Shut it.”

Techno has to work hard to keep his breathing steady, but he manages well enough. He presses the knife a little harder into Sykunno’s throat. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to make him panic.

It’d be so easy.

But Wilbur would be dead. Surprisingly, Techno’s first thoughts aren’t of Phil. He gets a sudden shock through his chest because he really wants Wilbur alive. He wants Wilbur to get out of this alive- if only to hear him laugh at one of Techno’s jokes, or talk about stupid British slang again. He really wants to keep Wilbur alive. He really wants to be friends, and he hasn’t wanted that in a long time.

“Corpse,” Sykunno chokes, “I want you to know that you’ve been a really good friend, and I’m so glad I-”

Techno holds his hands up and lets Sykkuno stumble out of his reach.

“Thank you,” Sykunno gasps. “Thank you, you can keep your-” he’s barely finished gesturing to the packs on the sides of Brick when Techno is removing the saddle and telling Wilbur to do the same.

They probably just want to remove any identifying things so the horses can’t be traced. Techno doesn’t care. At least they have some of their items.

Sykkuno grabs the horses by the reins, handing Brick’s off to Corpse. Rae turns her horse around, still looking over her shoulder, her gun locked on him. She stays that way until her, Sykunno, Corpse, and all five horses have disappeared into the dusty skyline.

Techno finally looks at Wilbur. He’s sitting on the ground, staring at the saddle in his hands. His hair is hanging over his eyes, shadowing them. “Fucking hell,” Wilbur mutters. “I can’t believe that that just happened. Holy shit.” He runs a hand through his hair.

Techno drops down beside him like a dropped sack of bricks, looking to where the Highwaymen disappeared. “Frasier’s been with me since I got here,” Wilbur says. “I don’t-”

“I’ve only had Brick for a year but…”

Neither of them seems to want or know how to finish their thoughts.

“Alright,” Techno finally says, “enough mourning. We’ve gotta trade to get to.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m telling you I am.”

Wilbur stands. “Why didn’t you kill him when you had the chance?”

Techno shrugs. He doesn’t like how vulnerable trying to make friends with Wilbur has been. It makes him feel raw. Like someone’s taking steel wool to the hidden parts of him and scrubbed until he bled out of his pores. “Pointless. Let’s go.”

“Just like that?”

Techno sticks his hands in his coat pockets. He’s glad he has two more pistols, even if they’re not as pretty as his Colt Navy. He would have felt naked without any. “Just like that. Time to move on. And if we wanna make it home, we’re gonna need new horses.”


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> schlatt and co real and true

It isn’t a long walk to the town, but if Techno’s honest, no distance has ever felt longer.

Wilbur’s back is hunched. He’s quiet, hasn’t spoken a word since the highwaymen left them, but his sullenness is potent enough to breathe.

Techno doesn’t like getting attached to things. It’s just another rule of living as he does, another rule he failed to follow. Loving isn’t worth much. All it’s ever given him is grief, all it’s ever good for is leverage against him. He’s never told anyone about Phil for just that reason.

But he told himself that it was okay to get attached to his horse and his guns and now look where it’s gotten him; biting his tongue, his hat in his hands, walking through the desert while Brick is likely being prepped for sale.

He wipes some of the sweat off his forehead. He misses her already.

_Idiot._

Wilbur’s breathing gets suddenly heavier and Techno glances over. Wilbur’s pale hands are shaking. He seems to sense the look, as he shoves his hands under his arms. Techno wonders how long he’s even been in America. Unless he stayed up North before getting to Arizona, it can’t have been long, not with that untanned, unweathered skin.

“I wish you hadn’t come here,” Wilbur spits. Techno puts his hat back on, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets. “You just- you just show up one day and you and Phil are all buddy-buddy, you get to just go to the market with me after a week, when I had to actually work for it?” Wilbur kicks at the hard savannah ground and sends a stick flying.  
  


Techno glares right back. “I know you’re mad about your horse, but you don’t get to be rude to me for it. It’s not my fault.”

Wilbur’s teeth snap together as he clenches them. “You just get to barge in whenever you feel like it and immediately become the fucking favourite again. It’s bullshit.”

For once, his mouth runs a bit slower than his brain, and he manages to keep it shut.

The town is bigger than he thought it’d be. He doesn’t quite know what he expected, but there’s some smug Texan part of him that still thinks Arizona is a territory for squatters and small villages. But no, this one is a big one, that he can’t see the end of from the entrance, and it’s got stalls lining each side of the road.

“Where we setting up?” He asks, even though Wilbur still looks bitter enough to make Techno cringe.

“Who gives a shit?”

“Me, actually,” Techno replies, because if Wilbur isn’t going to be civil then Techno has no obligation.

“Lord,” Wilbur grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

They end up leaning against the wall of a saloon that smells like beer and piss, stubbornly refusing to look at each other. Techno wipes more sweat off his forehead, feeling absolutely grimy. _Arizona_. Why in the name of the good lord himself did Phil have to live here? At least Texas heat could make you feel handsome, working yourself in the fields or racing away from police on Brick.

Why does he miss his horse so much? It is too hot for him to waste water on crying.

Techno fidgets in place, twisting his hands together and rocking back and forth on his heels. It’s so hot. He feels like his skin is going to peel away.

Wilbur is shouting about the sweet jerky and smooth leather at the top of his lungs, but they only get one customer, and he barely buys a morsel of what they’ve offered. Techno squats against the wall, desperate to move. “Do you think we should buy something, so we actually have a bit to go home with? With how well your callings are doing, I doubt that we’ll miss any anxious customers.”

Wilbur curses, kicking at the dirt and rubbing his eyes. “Fine. But I’m coming with you, fucking twat. I don’t trust you not to shoot someone.”

Technoblade groans into his hands, but doesn’t say a word.

The next stall over is some woman selling jewelry that draws Techno’s eye. But Wilbur makes a beeline for one at the end of the lane, a proper set up with horseshoes along the wooden beams. Shit, is this motherfucker gonna mope the whole time? At least Techno can keep himself respectable.

There’s a man at the front of the stall, leaning against the back wall and looking remarkably out of place. He grins when he sees Wilbur stomping forwards. There’s a kid next to him, fidgeting with a revolver that Techno really just wants to touch, because Jesus H. Christ that design is _beautiful_.

“Gentlemen,” the man at the front of the stall says, spreading his arms wider than his grin. He’s got an accent that’s so yankee Techno can _taste_ it. “What can I do you for? We’ve got horseshoes, leads as fine as they make ‘em, guns straight from New York herself. Take your pick!”

“That gun looks mighty fine,” Techno says, a bit louder than he means to. The kid's head snaps up to him, looking a little worried. 

The kid turns to the man, who waves him off. “Talk his socks off, Ty.”

Ty grins in a way so similar to the man that Techno wonders if they’re brothers. “Thanks, Schlatt.” Then Techno is bending over the counter to examine what he’s pretty sure is an old Colt model.

“You got a real pretty one there, Lord.”

“Military guys called it a _Dragoon._ Six-shot. Can’t give you this one, brother, she’s my baby, but I can get you another Colt if you’ve got enough on you.” Ty pauses, still grinning like a kid with candy. “And if you’ll take good care of her, of course. Can’t put my girls in the hands of someone who won’t treat ‘em right.”

“Of course,” Techno agrees solemnly.

He can hear Wilbur talking to Schlatt somewhere in the background, but he doesn’t pay much attention. It’s like a weight off his chest, to just get to talk to someone about a shared passion. Ty shows him an absolute beauty of a Colt Walker. Nearly as long as Techno’s forearm and heavy besides. It’s like an older model of the Dragoon, but Ty swears up and down that it’s just as good, and Techno can’t help but agree.

He tunes out of Ty’s rambling for a moment as the sound of footsteps enter his ears. Techno looks up and finds a man walking up beside Schlatt.

“You’re bringing in horses?” Wilbur asks, and Techno can only hope that it means what he thinks it does.

As soon as he realizes that the man is probably an associate and not a robber, Techno turns back to the guns and the engaging conversation.

And then he hears Wilbur’s voice get a _lot_ louder. “Connor?”

Techno turns just in time to see Wilbur punch Schlatt’s presumed associate directly in the jaw. The man, presumably Connor, staggers, and Wilbur jumps on him, punching him in the face again.

Techno moves as quick as he can, grabbing under Wilbur’s arms and trying to pull him off Connor. Connor cowers beneath the blows, hands up in front of his bloodied face. “You fucking bastard!” Wilbur is screaming, thrashing in Techno’s hold.

“Calm down, Wilbur!” Techno gives a sharp tug and successfully pulls Wilbur back, landing on his ass in the dirt with a struggling Will on top of him.

Wilbur screams even more profanities at Connor, still thrashing around, even as he attracts attention.

“Christ, Connor, what’d you do to the guy?” Schlatt asks with a laugh, tugging Connor up by the arm. “He has it out for you.”

Techno is positive that Wilbur is making up these insults. There’s no way they’re all real.

“Wilbur, in the name of the good lord above me, shut the fuck up!” Techno is just about ready to slam a hand over Will’s mouth and call it a day, but that seems to finally do it. Wilbur’s teeth snap together as he pants, seemingly out of breath from all the yelling. Techno can’t say he’s surprised. “And you said _I_ would shoot someone.”

Connor’s voice is shaky, his arm thrown around Schlatt’s shoulder. “Wilbur? Wilbur Soot?”

“Yeah, you better fucking remember me, you piece of shit!” Wilbur gives another lurch forward, seemingly just for the sake of it.

Techno groans into Wilbur’s hair. “If I let you go right now, will you control yourself?” Wilbur nods.

Techno untangles them and stands up, brushing off his pants. He turns to Ty. “So, that Walker…?”

Wilbur grabs him by the arm. “Oh no, Technoblade, we are _not_ dealing with them. No way.”

“I want that revolver, Will.”

“I don’t give a shit! We’re not doing deals with them!” Wilbur looks down at him, directly in his eyes. “Trust me, Techno. _Please.”_

Techno freezes. Trusting people is bad for him. Trusting people, _especially_ people like Wilbur, who drive with their heart instead of their head, is the kind of thing that gets you killed. But he can’t stop hearing his gut, and his gut says _okay,_ his gut says _yes,_ his gut says _I trust you._

And he can’t deal with that. He can’t. He can’t function in a world where that’s the precedent.

Techno swallows. “Ty? How much is it up for?”

Wilbur storms back to the side of the pub while Techno gets his Colt. He’s still admiring the make when he walks back. Wilbur is slumped against the wall, glaring at anyone that passes.

“You gonna tell me what _that_ was about?”

Wilbur turns the glare on him. “I thought that _I didn’t have to talk about it if I wasn’t ready.”_

Techno ignores the mockery of his accent and crosses his arms, stuffing the Colt in the inadequate holster. “No, this isn't like that. You broke a guy’s nose, Wilbur. Tell me, now.” Wilbur looks a little surprised, almost wounded, but Techno doesn’t care, he doesn’t.

“Fuck, man, you’re really putting me on the spot here.” Wilbur laughs nervously, running a hand through hair. Techno walks over and sits down next to him, tapping his knee. There’s a long few minutes where neither of them say a word.

“Fine!” Wilbur finally says, lifting his hand up and scratching at the back of his neck. “Fine, I can- I can…” He takes a deep breath. “So I’m nineteen, right? And I’ve just got to America after a long boat ride and I’m- I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I’ve got no fucking clue how things work around here.” His next breath in is shakier than the last. Techno resists the sharp urge to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it’s alright. “Connor’s the first guy I meet. He gives me a job, says he’ll pay me soon, I- I think he’s my _friend._ He makes me believe that he’s my friend.

“And then I try to buy a motel room, so I can stop sleeping in a fucking _tent,_ and he’s been paying me counterfeit. Cause I’m some stupid kid who can’t tell the damn difference. I go to find him and he’s gone, and he’s taken months of my fucking labour and time and I don’t have a cent for it.”

Wilbur brings his hand up to his mouth and bites on his nail, pulling so hard that the skin tears. Techno winces. He feels like shit now, even though he shouldn’t care, cause he has a right to an answer.

“Motel guys still think I tried to scam ‘em on purpose. They beat me half to death, rob me of the few things I had, and dump me on the side of the road for the vultures. I almost get trampled by a horse, but fortunately, the guy is nice enough not to kill me. He even gives me a place to stay.” Wilbur laughs. “You wanted to know how I met Phil? There’s your story.” He wipes his bloody finger on his pants. “Hope it was fucking worth it.”

Techno stares at his shoes. It wasn’t. He feels like shit. Phil was wrong- Wilbur isn’t stressed. It’s just him. He’s fucked it up, just like he’s always done. But instead of saying that, he just says “I wish we hadn’t lost our horses.”

Wilbur laughs.

“I think I can help you with that,” Connor says.

Techno’s hand goes straight to his Colt, and Connor holds his hands up. “Woah there,” Connor says smoothly. “No need for that. I’m here to help.”

“Fuck off,” Wilbur spits.

“Really. You guys were robbed, right? Horses taken right under your nose? Group of three; the leader is a girl, guy has a deep voice?” Techno grips the revolver tighter.

“How the hell did you know that?” Wilbur demands.

“Schlatt hires them. He probably told you he could get you a brand new horse, right?” Wilbur nods. “He’s gonna get you another one from the same people. He pays them docked as hell prices and they get everything they fancy from their robberies. The barn is a little ways North from here.”

Techno’s head is still trying to work through all that when Wilbur asks “and why are you helping us now?”

Connor stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking away. “Heard about what happened to you. Been thinking you were dead for a long few years now, and it’s never- it’s never really left. I guess this is just- just payback for that. I’m not sorry. Never have been, not for anything, and I never will be. But I figured I owe you.”

“That is the worst apology I’ve ever heard,” Techno interjects. Wilbur smacks him on the head.

There’s no thank you, no you’re welcome. Wilbur nods and says “okay,” and Connor nods back.

Connor’s back is to them when he asks “Do you still play guitar?”

Wilbur stiffens. “No,” he says, “no, I don’t.”

“Shame. You were good.”

And then he’s gone, and somehow Techno has to put this all together again.

Wilbur’s crying, Techno realizes a little belatedly.

Techno stands, brushing his hands off on his pants again, even though there’s nothing there. “Come on, Wilbur. We got some horses to save.”

Wilbur scrubs at his eyes, pulling himself up with the wall. “Yup, yeah, yeah, horses. I’m fine, I’m great. I can do that.”

“Knew you could.”

So, North it was.

That’s when Techno spots a very familiar face in the crowd and forces Wilbur to a stop. “What?”

Techno holds up a hand, taking off his glasses and cleaning them just to make sure he’s seeing right. “Alright, Wilbur, y’know how we just met someone from your past?”

Their eyes meet across the path and a wide smile breaks out across their face. The only man who still makes Techno feel tall starts on a beeline straight for them, two boys following behind him.

“You’re kidding,” Wilbur practically begs.

“I am not.”

“Technoblade! It’s been a long time!” He turns to the two teenagers. “Jack, Tommy, come here, I’ve gotta introduce you to someone!”

Techno can’t keep the little smile off his face, even as the dread pours off Wilbur in waves. “Wilbur, meet the man who taught me how to shoot a gun. Bad, meet Wilbur Soot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any feedback id love to hear it :D  
> ill try to respond to all comments
> 
> (also i update every Sunday so if youre interested in more dream smp stuff you can check out my profile and maybe subscribe)

**Author's Note:**

> art by Spaghettoi! Follow him on AO3 he is very cool.
> 
> here's his Instagram if you want to see more stuff like it (:  
> https://www.instagram.com/teethkid67/
> 
> -
> 
> Please give me comments I hoard them like a dragon with his gold.


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